29: Better I Than You

                                    

                                          
Massive thank you's to sweetvter and  for voting on all of the chapters. Thank you for showing your love! 
                          
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We need to talk.
                          
I've stared at the message for the nth time today, already in my apartment and sleeping clothes, and still no response from Harry. It was now a little past two a.m. and sleep has not come knocking at my door, my head still reeling from wandering thoughts. Perks of a Wallflower is playing on my TV, acting more as a background noise to distract myself with than a source of entertainment.
                          
It's becoming more and more difficult for me to organize my thoughts, but one thing was clear: it was time he and I talked. Him going AWOL on me and then being spotted in Kendall's house was a big deal. Him not giving me a heads up was even bigger.
                          
That hurt me more than anything else—more than the fans coming at me and digging up as much dirt on me as they can. The idea of him not trusting me enough to keep me in the loop . . . that made my heart sink into my stomach. I could never and would never do anything that would harm him or jeopardize his career. Just thinking of him in pain sends a harsh twist in my insides.
                          
I was on my feet, headed to the kitchen when my buzzer rang.
                          
I freeze, rooted to the spot as fear crawls under my skin. It was two a.m. There was no way it was any of my family and friends—they would've called or texted me first, knowing how much of a scaredy-cat I was. The multiple locks on my door helped ease a bit of my anxiety, but said anxiety sparked even higher when it buzzed again.
                          
I call Brandon without hesitation. Thankfully, he answers on the second ring.
                          
"There's someone buzzing my apartment," I tell him immediately, not wasting a second when whoever was out there could possibly break into my place any minute now. I grab a knife from the kitchen drawer despite my shaking hands.
                          
"Is the door locked? Deadbolt and chain?" He asks, alert, and I hear shuffling from his side plus the telltale chink of keys.
                          
"Y-yes, but what if the person breaks in?"
                          
"Calm down. Can you look through the peephole?" I hear the sound of an engine starting. His lack of reassurance about a possible break in sends a wave of paranoia in my head.
                          
My feet have turned into a jello. "I-I don't think I can." Three knocks on the door made goosebumps rise on my skin and it takes me a whole lot of bravery to keep standing. "Someone's knocking. Brandon—"
                          
"I'm on my way," he says, a nervous tinge in his voice too, "look through the peephole Kennedy. It would help if we could get a description of the person."
                          
Brandon was being logically correct, and as much as it scares me to, I force my legs to bring me to my door, every inch closer making my body shake a little harder.
                          
With my phone on one hand and a knife on the other, I level my eye with the glass. And that's when I see.
                          
"Motherfucker."
                          
"Tell me what you see Kennedy," Brandon's urgent voice fills my ear.
                          
With a sigh, I toss the knife to the floor, my now free hand flat on the door to support myself while I take much needed deep breaths. "Harry. It's Harry."
                          
Brandon lets out an audible sigh as well. "Do you still need me to come over?"
                          
"No . . . no, I can do this," I say, moving my still shaking hand to open the door. "Thank you, Brandon. I owe you."